Three.
1399 Words
Aria's POV
The curtains opened and a roar of applause crashed over us.
I blinked against the blinding lights as two guards shoved us forward onto a raised platform.
My stomach turned.
There had to be hundreds of people seated below. Hundreds of eyes that devoured us from the shadowed seats below. Men in tailored suits. Women dripping in jewels. Alphas with their predatory auras pulsing like heat haze. Lycans whose golden eyes gleamed with barely restrained hunger. Vampires lounging with elegant indifference, fangs glinting. Witches tracing idle sigils in the air with manicured nails. Even humans—wealthy, soulless ones—sipped champagne as if this were a charity gala instead of a slaughterhouse auction.
Crystal chandeliers dripped light like frozen stars overhead. Servants in crisp uniforms glided between rows, trays of blood-infused wine and glittering flutes balanced perfectly. The scent of expensive perfume clashed with the sharp tang of fear-sweat rolling off the women beside me.
I scanned the crowd, jaw clenched. Some smiled with polite cruelty. Others laughed at private jokes. Too many stared at us with the flat, assessing gaze of butchers weighing sides of meat.
Revulsion slithered under my skin like live wires.
A sharply dressed man with silver-streaked hair and a predator’s smile strode to center stage, arms spread wide in theatrical welcome.
“Distinguished guests,” he called, voice amplified and smooth as oiled silk, “welcome to tonight’s exclusive Crimson Market Auction—the most prestigious gathering of its kind in three centuries.”
The applause swelled again, hungry and eager.
“Tonight, we offer more than flesh,” he continued, pacing with deliberate grace. “We offer beauty that could launch wars… rarity that defies bloodlines… and lineages powerful enough to reshape empires.”
My nails dug crescents into my palms.
He gestured grandly toward our trembling line. “We begin with Lot Thirty-One.”
A young blonde girl—no older than eighteen—was dragged forward by her chains. Her knees buckled. Tear tracks carved clean paths down her flushed cheeks.
The auctioneer beamed like a proud showman. “Pure-blood wolf shifter. Untouched. Flawless health. Projected fertility: exceptional. Her line traces back to the ancient Siberian packs.”
A holographic screen materialized behind him, rotating slowly: her full profile, medical scans, projected offspring count, even a projected compatibility rating with various Alpha bloodlines.
“Bidding starts at two million.”
Hands shot up instantly.
“Three million!”
“Five!”
“Eight point five!”
“Ten million—cash, tonight.”
The numbers climbed with sickening speed. The girl’s sobs grew ragged, desperate. No one even glanced at her face. Within minutes, a gloating Alpha with a thick Russian accent claimed her. Two guards hauled her away as she screamed, her heels scraping uselessly across the stage.
Then another girl. And another.
Some fainted before their lots were called. One begged on her knees, offering anything—anything at all—if they’d just let her go. Another hurled herself off the platform’s edge in a final act of defiance.
She never reached the floor.
A guard’s hand snapped out with supernatural speed, twisting her neck mid-air with a sickening crack. Her body crumpled like discarded cloth. The crowd barely murmured. A few even chuckled.
The auction rolled on, merciless.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a war drum. This wasn’t captivity. This wasn’t even slavery.
This was hell wearing a tuxedo.
The girl chained beside me—a dark-haired witch with bruised wrists—leaned in, voice trembling. “They’ll kill you if you resist. Slowly. Publicly.”
I kept my eyes fixed forward. “Good. Let them try.”
She stared at me, wide-eyed. “They’ll make an example of you. The kind no one forgets.”
I allowed myself a small, bitter smile. “Then I’ll make sure it’s worth remembering.”
Hours blurred into a nightmare of names and bids until a handler finally approached me, baton crackling with enchanted electricity.
“Number Thirty-Seven. You’re up.”
I didn’t move.
He seized my arm, fingers bruising. “Move, bitch.”
I ripped free. “I heard you the first time.”
When he lunged again, I drove my fist straight into his nose. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed across the polished stage in a vivid arc.
The audience gasped—then erupted into delighted laughter.
The guard staggered back, clutching his face. For one shining second, triumph burned in my chest.
Then six more guards swarmed the platform.
I fought like a cornered animal. My elbow shattered against a jaw with a satisfying crack. My knee sank into a soft stomach, doubling the man over. I sank my teeth into a hand clamped over my mouth, tasting copper. The crowd loved it. And I didn't know if it were a good or bad sign.
“Feisty little thing!” someone shouted.
“I’ll double whatever the final bid is!”
“Ten million just for the show she’s putting on!”
A massive guard finally locked his arms around my waist from behind. I slammed my head backward into his face. Bone met bone. He roared in pain.
Another pinned my wrists behind me. I twisted wildly, kicking until my heel slammed into the auctioneer’s chest. He flew backward off the stage with a startled yelp, landing hard among the front row.
For the first time all night, the hall fell deathly quiet.
The auctioneer climbed back up, brushing dust from his immaculate jacket, his pleasant mask shattered into pure venom. “I was trying to be *civil*,” he hissed.
He nodded sharply.
A guard’s fist drove into my ribs like a sledgehammer. Agony exploded through my side—white-hot, breath-stealing. I dropped to one knee, gasping, vision swimming.
He crouched in front of me, voice low and poisonous. “You’ll fetch FAR more if you behave, darling.”
I lifted my head, blood trickling from my split lip, and looked him dead in the eyes.
Then spat a mouthful of it across his face.
The silence was absolute.
Until a low, rich laugh rolled down from one of the private balconies overlooking the hall—dark glass, impenetrable. Every head snapped toward it.
The auctioneer went bone-white. “M-my lord… we had no idea you would honor us with your presence.”
The silhouette behind the glass didn’t move at first. Tall. Commanding. Power radiated from him in waves so thick the air felt heavier. Guards dropped their gazes to the floor. Even the Alphas in the front row shifted uncomfortably.
The auctioneer swallowed audibly and turned back to the crowd, voice strained. “Ladies and gentlemen… our final lot of the evening.”
He seized my chin in a bruising grip, yanking my face toward the sea of hungry eyes. “Number Thirty-Seven. Bloodline just verified this morning.”
The hall grew so quiet I could hear my own ragged breathing.
He smiled, cold and triumphant. “Presenting… the last surviving descendant of the Luna Vitae bloodline.”
Gasps ripped through the room. People surged to their feet. Bids exploded before he could even draw breath.
“Fifty million!”
“One hundred and twenty!”
“Three territories and my entire silver empire!”
“A thousand bars of pure gold and a seat on my council!”
“Name your price—*anything*!”
The bids dissolved into kingdoms, armies, ancient artifacts. They weren’t buying a woman anymore.
They were buying a legend.
Confusion and dread churned in my gut. Luna Vitae? What the hell made my blood so valuable?
Then the figure in the balcony moved.
One black-gloved hand settled on the railing with deliberate calm.
The entire hall froze.
No more bids. No whispers. Even the auctioneer looked ready to faint.
The stranger’s voice cut through the silence—deep, velvet-wrapped steel, completely emotionless.
“I’ll take the girl.”
The auctioneer opened his mouth, stammering. “M-my lord, the bidding—”
Before he could finish, the massive oak doors at the rear of the hall exploded inward in a deafening blast of splintered wood and smoke. Gunfire and steel clashed. Screams tore through the air.
And from within the choking haze, a single, thunderous command rang out with terrifying authority:
“Kill every trafficker. Leave none alive.”
Chaos swallowed the world whole.
- Writer
